


Cake Murder

by pterawaters



Series: Derek's Sweet Sixteen [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, Both Derek and Stiles are underage, Bottom Derek Hale, Cake, Car Sex, Chocolate, Food, Lingerie, M/M, Ptera's TW Bingo, Sweet Sixteen, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's finally having his sixteenth birthday party, if he and Stiles can arrive with the cake intact, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "chocolate" square on my Teen Wolf Bingo [Card](http://pterawaters.livejournal.com/51515.html). It will make more sense if you read [I'm in Love with How You Feel (Sixteen Candles)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/646325) first.

Feeling more smug than hurt (possibly because awesome sex always put Derek in the best mood), Derek gallops down the stairs the morning after his sixteenth birthday and walks into the kitchen. His mother stands at the counter, drinking her coffee and making one of her lists. She looks up when he comes him and says, "Hey, sweetheart. Did you get your homework done last night?"

Since his mother can always tell _somehow_ when he's lying, he replies, "Most of it."

"Stayed too long at Stiles' house?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

Derek blushes. "I was only ten minutes late for dinner. Which we didn't have." He goes to the refrigerator and pours himself a glass of milk.

Sighing, Mom says, "I know, I know. Megan's wedding is going to be the death of me, I swear. At least there's only a month left before it's over with."

Derek nods and sets his glass down on the island between them. He licks the milk from his upper lip and says, "Speaking of days of the month, do you know what yesterday was?"

Mom's eyebrows draw together and she shakes her head. "Yesterday...yesterday was the sixteenth. Did you have a game? I'm sorry, Derek, but the mid-week games are–" She cuts herself off and Derek can see the blood drain from her face. "Oh, god! It's March! We forgot your birthday!"

Derek taps his nose silently.

"Oh, my god!" Mom groans, hurrying around the island to grab Derek by his forearm. "I am _so_ sorry! We'll– God help me, but we'll have a party this weekend, if it kills me. I promise."

Derek laughs and says, "Okay. But _please_ don't die. And..."

"And what?" Mom looks eager to please, so Derek knows this is his chance.

"And I'm not sure a party is gonna cut it. A guy only turns sixteen once, you know, and everyone _forgot_. I'll forgive you, because I'm a good son, but a car sure would make it easier."

Mom frowns and sighs dramatically. "You know your father and I are paying for your sister's wedding. We can't afford to just buy you a car. What's wrong with you and Laura sharing the coupe?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Only that she drives it to work after school every day and that it smells all girly. I can't pick people up in a car that smells like hibiscuses...es!"

"It's lavender–"

"Whatever."

Mom gives Derek a long look. And then she sighs. "I'll see what I can do." Before Derek can make any victorious gestures, Mom cuts him off. "But! You'll have to pay for insurance and gas and any repairs, just like the rest of your siblings. Which means getting a job."

Derek shrugs. Lacrosse season is almost over, so he'll have time to work. Not that he has any skills. Maybe he can get Gabe to hook him up with a job at the hardware store he used to work at during high school. It had to pay pretty well if it only took Gabe three years to save up for the Camaro, right?

~~**~~

That Saturday, Derek's parents present him with Subaru station wagon that's even crappier than Stiles' blue Jeep. Derek sighs dramatically, but he takes the keys and tries not to sound sarcastic when he thanks his parents. "I'm gonna go get Stiles. He wanted to see my new 'ride' before the party."

"Oh, Derek?" Mom stops him with a hand on his arm. "Would you run by Sweetheart Bakery on your way and pick up the cake?"

Derek knows for a fact that Laura never had to lift a finger for any of her birthday parties, but he swallows that touch of resentment and says, "Sure. See you guys later."

Derek doesn't want to rush things with Stiles, so he goes by the bakery first, picking up his own damn birthday cake. At least when he peeks in on it, he sees that his mom remembered to order chocolate frosting and that his name is spelled right. When he was eleven, his cake said, "Happy B-day, Derrick." Everyone had laughed. Except Derek, that is.

When Derek gets to Stiles' house, he walks right in, waving at the Sheriff as he heads up the stairs to Stiles' room. Stiles nods as Derek enters the room, but he's too engrossed in his computer to give an intelligible greeting.

Derek bends down to lay his chin on Stiles' shoulder and asks right in his ear, "Were you at my eleventh birthday? I can't remember."

Absently, Stiles replies, "The one where they spelled your name wrong? Yeah, totally."

The reply makes Derek smile. Stiles was always sort of in the background of his life, not really a friend, but not an enemy either. They rarely had the same class in grade school and had totally different groups of friends until Stiles and Scott joined the lacrosse team freshman year. Things just sort of snowballed from there.

Heh. Snowballed.

Before Derek thinks to read what Stiles is so invested in, Stiles closes his laptop and swivels his chair around. "Well? Let's see this magnificent beast of yours!"

Derek draws his eyebrows together. "Your dad's right downstairs..."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles stands up and replies, "The _car_ , dumbass." He grins and steps into Derek's personal space. "Though I haven't got any complaints."

Returning the smile, Derek closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Stiles' waist as he presses their lips together in a kiss that isn't so much, "Hello!" as it is, "Oh, God! Why has it been twenty-four hours since we last kissed?!"

Stiles returns the kiss, sucking at Derek's lower lip and pulling before plunging back in. With his tongue. Derek moans a little, cutting off the sound because he's suddenly painfully aware that Sheriff Stilinski is right downstairs and he's not looking forward to being caught with his pants down. For the fifth time. 

Derek steps back, using his hands on Stiles' ribcage to hold him at arm's length. "Let's go take a look at the beast."

Laughing with his tongue pressed just slightly through his teeth (God, why can't Derek kiss him _all the time, ever_?) Stiles nods. "Yeah, c'mon. Let's go." He grabs a hoodie and a thin, wrapped present from underneath it, which looks like a DVD case if Derek had to guess.

Pointing at the gift, Derek says, "You already gave me my present the other day." He feels his cheeks heat up at the memory.

"Family friendly version," Stiles insists, tapping on it. Yeah, the rattling sound definitely gives the impression that it's a DVD. Hopefully Stiles' version of "family friendly" doesn't include anything X-rated.

Derek follows Stiles out of the house, wincing when the station wagon comes into view. He watches as Stiles pauses for a moment before starting forward again, moving with an extra-casual swing to his arms and hips. "It's no Camaro," he says, an assessing frown on his face as he circles the car. "But, that's a lot of trunk room. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Derek frowns and shakes his head. "I'm never thinking what you're thinking."

"Those back seats fold down, don't they?" Stiles points at the back seat and motions for Derek to unlock the doors. Derek fumbles in his pocket for the key fob and presses the button twice to unlock the back doors.

Stiles leans in, pokes around a little and then folds down half of the back seat. He stands up and grins at Derek over the roof of the car before ducking back in, crawling in, and folding down the other half. The space in the back of the station wagon is almost as big as his bed at home, but wider and not as tall. Derek opens the back door and sticks his head in. "Okay, now I'm pretty sure I _am_ thinking what you're thinking. Abandoned lot behind the old paper factory?"

Stiles pulls Derek forward by his shirt collar and kisses him. "Baby, you read my mind."

Derek backs out and goes to the driver's seat, fitting his brand new key in the ignition. He turns to tell Stiles to move the cake out of the passenger's seat and onto the floor or something, but he's too late. Derek watches in horror as Stiles drops into the seat without looking, the cardboard of the cake box crumpling loudly under his ass.

Eyes wide, Stiles looks over at Derek and his jaw drops. "Uh-oh."

"Shit."

"Was that important?" Stiles asks, gingerly climbing back out of the car. "Was that your _birthday cake_?"

Derek nods.

"Oh, my god! Your mom is gonna kill me!" Stiles winces as he kneels on the driveway and teases the lid of the box away from the cake, most of the chocolate frosting coming with it. "Yeah, this is well and truly hosed."

Sighing, Derek says, "I guess we're not having cake at my party."

"No," Stiles says, replacing the lid on the box and moving the whole thing between the seats and into the rear, shoving it so it slides toward the hatch back. "No. Fuck that. Take me to the bakery. I'm getting you a new cake."

"You don't have t–"

Stiles grabs Derek's face and kisses him, meeting his eyes and saying, "I know that, dumbass. But I want to, okay?"

Derek starts the car. 

~~**~~

It takes all the time they have left before Derek's parents are expecting them back at the house for the bakers at Sweetheart to make up a replacement cake. They charge Stiles $75, which is three times what the cake is worth. Derek starts to vow that he'll never come back here again, but then he realizes that Sweetheart is the place that bakes the strawberry pie that Derek would _literally_ kill someone for. He keeps his mouth shut.

The party goes as well as Derek had been expecting and his parents have no idea that the cake they paid for (like they paid for the car he wheedled out of them) was destroyed. Derek vows to himself never to speed and always to check his blind spot. And never to let Stiles drive his car. Derek would do anything for Stiles, but he won't do that.

Laura gives Derek a new leather jacket (oh, yeah, she was feeling the guilt over forgetting his birthday), Gabe gives him a new lacrosse helmet, Megan gives him a mini-fridge that he _knows_ she got as a wedding present from their Great Aunt Lucille. And Stiles gives Derek _Halo 4_.

Most of the guests leave after cake and presents, but Scott and Isaac stick around to "help" Derek and Stiles break in the new Halo game. Eventually, though, Stiles leans over Derek's shoulder and whispers in his ear, "My curfew's in two hours. I'm thinking you need to 'take me home' _now_ , if you get my drift."

Derek smiles and dies on purpose to end the game faster.

"Time to go!" Derek says, leaning forward and turning off the X-box. "You guys gotta go. I'm giving Stiles a ride home."

"He's on my way," Isaac says, standing up and rolling his shoulders until the joints crack. "I could drop you off, dude."

"Dude," Scott says, shaking his head and directing Isaac away by the shoulders. "No."

Stiles and Derek laugh as they watch their friends go. Stiles' hand finds its way into Derek's and Stiles asks, "Good day so far?"

"So far," Derek agrees.

~~**~~

Derek hardly finishes parking his car behind the old paper factory before Stiles is out of his seatbelt and climbing into the back. His ass wiggles a little too intentionally as he climbs, so Derek smacks it before he follows. Stiles laughs. The sound makes Derek's chest warm, which is good considering the fact that even though the day was warm, the March night is quickly turning frigid.

Stiles settles cross-legged near the very back of the open space, hunched over so his head doesn't hit the ceiling. He grins and pulls the smashed cake box into his lap. "I kind of feel like I got away with murder, you know?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek fits himself next to Stiles, curling around him and playing with the hem of his shirt. "Cake murder?"

"Totally." He sticks his finger in the mess of chocolate and then into his mouth. "Dead cake still tastes good."

Derek doesn't answer. He's too busy watching as Stiles takes another dollop of icing and sucks it off his finger. He blushes when Stiles catches him watching.

"Yeah?" He offers the next bite of icing to Derek, chocolate smeared over the spit-shine on his skin. Just then, the interior light times out and flicks off, plunging them into darkness. Derek gets a cheek full of frosting. "Oh, my god, dude! Sorry!"

Before Derek can brush the icing away with his hand, Stiles grabs Derek's chin and leans in, licking a wet stripe up Derek's cheek. He laps a few times, clearing the icing away, and when he pulls back, Derek's face feels sticky with the residue and cold as Stiles' spit dries. He's also half-aroused. "Stiles."

"Yeah?"

Derek gets a hand on Stiles' hip and pulls him closer, away from the cake. "You can't just _do that_ and..."

Laughing, Stiles finds his lips in the semi-darkness, and kisses him. His chocolate-flavored tongue sweeps into Derek's mouth, bittersweet and hot. Derek groans.

The cake box rustles and then Stiles climbs over Derek, pushing him so his back lands against the scratchy carpet of the upholstery. He fits his hips between Derek's legs and lets his weight press Derek down. He doesn't weigh that much, but it feels comforting and Derek's hands automatically drop down Stiles' sides to rest on his ass.

Stiles' weight shifts to one side and then he says, "Here," pressing a chocolate-smelling, sticky finger to Derek's lower lip. Without thinking, Derek reaches out with his tongue and pulls Stiles' finger into his mouth, licking and sucking at the icing. Stiles groans and rolls his hips. "Shit, Derek. Damn, your mouth!"

Derek can't wait anymore. He pushes up the back of Stiles' shirt and sweater before sticking his hands down the back of Stiles' pants. What he finds covering Stiles' ass is much lacier than he was expecting. "You're wearing them?"

"Duh. It's your birthday party." Derek can hear the self-satisfied grin in Stiles' voice. "I figured special occasion, special underthings!"

"God! And you've been wearing them all day?"

"Yep."

No torture devised by man or god could be worse than the fifteen seconds it takes Derek to flip them over, bang his head on the ceiling of the car, and pull Stiles' jeans open and down. There's barely enough light from the streetlamps about a block away, but Derek can see a slight contrast between Stiles' white skin and the dark red of the lacy boxer briefs he's wearing. Groaning, Derek lets his fingers explore the texture of them over Stiles' hot skin, working his way from hips toward the center.

"Fuck, Derek. God – shit, just..." Stiles huffs in frustration. Derek runs the palm of his hand up the hard line of Stiles' cock, pressing the fabric into Stiles' skin. "Yeeaaahhh. Yeah, baby."

The wrecked tone in Stiles' voice has Derek so hard he's starting to ache with want, so he struggles out of his pants and underwear before crawling over Stiles and straddling him. Rolling his hips down so Stiles' lace-covered cock fits snugly between his ass cheeks, Derek asks, "Yeah?"

Stiles groans and thrusts his hips, pulling Derek into a wet kiss. Abruptly he pulls back, his head hitting the floor with a soft thump. "Shit. I don't have any ... this isn't my car. Did you think to stock up?"

"Not the car," Derek says. "But ever since the park that one time–" "Which we never, _ever_ talk about, Der."

Smirking, Derek reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket (which he hasn't taken off yet partly because it's cold out, but mostly because Derek wearing it turns Stiles on). He pulls out a packet of lube, a condom, and a single-packaged wet wipe. "Used to be a boy scout."

Stiles laughs happily. Derek expects him to go into the long and involved story about how he got himself and Scott kicked out of boy scouts, but Stiles takes the packet of lube and says, "Scoot up a little."

Derek does as asked, holding his body on all fours over Stiles so his chest is roughly lined up with Stiles' mouth. He doesn't ask Stiles to shove his t-shirt up and mouth his nipples, because Derek has issues with using words to ask for things. Some days he has no problems and others he feels like the words won't come. Stiles reaches up anyway and pushes at Derek's t-shirt until it's bunched under his armpits, the leather of his jacket sticking to the slightly sweaty skin on his back. When Stiles starts sucking on Derek's left nipple, the tingling-tugging sensation distracts Derek so much that Stiles has covered his asshole with lube and has one finger steadily pressing in before he knows what's going on.

One finger never feels quite right. It isn't broad enough and Derek knows Stiles does this slowly to keep from hurting him, but Derek feels impatient and greedy. He manages to choke out, "More. C'mon!"

Stiles huffs in laughter and bites Derek's chest, away from the nipple so it doesn't exactly hurt, but the pressure and taunting threat of teeth make Derek gasp and then groan. Quietly, so that Derek has to strain to pay attention and understand him, Stiles says, "...keep them on while you ride me, baby. Get them all dirty again. Even after I washed them, they still smelled a little like you. God, Der! Fucking need you. Need–"

Groaning in frustration, Derek grabs Stiles' hand and shoves it out of the way before sitting back on his knees (hitting his head on the ceiling) and pulling the waistband of Stiles' underwear down just far enough to free his cock. "Where'd the lube go?" he asks impatiently. He's empty and wanting and in no mood to wait any longer.

Stiles presses the packet into Derek's hand the wrong way around so that lube gets all over his wrist, but Derek doesn't stop to complain. He simply swipes up as much as he can and strokes down Stiles' cock (which Stiles covered with the condom while Derek was messing with the lube) to get it slick enough. Throwing his head back, Stiles laughs, but Derek can tell it's the kind of laugh that Stiles makes when he's avoiding embarrassing himself by whimpering instead. It's a good kind of laugh.

Derek finally, _finally_ sinks down onto Stiles' cock, taking him in as fast as he can manage, which is still slower than he wants. When he bottoms out, Stiles' hands are heavy on his hips, fingertips creeping around toward Derek's ass, and Derek can feel the lace of Stiles' underwear rubbing against his inner thighs. He rolls his hips slightly to get a feel for how this is going to work in the back of his car, and somehow the cramped quarters, the limitation, make that slick dragging, full sensation even better. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees, rolling his own hips and adjusting his angle until Derek groans and gives a sharp thrust, just right.

Before Derek can really work up a rhythm, the smell of the chocolate cake hits him, forgotten until now. An idea crosses his mind and he acts on it without thinking it through. Derek flips open the lid of the box and runs a finger through the icing before setting it against Stiles' lips. Stiles sucks on his finger without hesitation, saying around the digit, "Mm, thanks, dude."

Derek laughs and rolls his hips again, rubbing Stiles' tongue with his finger and remembering how the hot, rough surface feels against his skin, on his dick.

"Can't have you starving either," Stiles says when Derek pulls his finger out to trace the softness of Stiles' lips. One of Stiles' hands leaves Derek's hip and reaches across Stiles' body and between them until it reaches the cake box. "This is your dead birthday cake, after all." He grabs a crumbly piece of the marble cake between his fingers and curls halfway up so his abs are flexed and hard under Derek's dick. Stiles sets the cake just in front of Derek's mouth, but Derek needs a moment to get his eyes forward again. The change in position moved Stiles' cock just enough that Derek thinks he's embarrassingly close to coming.

After a few deep breaths, Derek feels more in control, so he reaches out and takes the bite into his mouth, licking at Stiles' fingers. He can't quite see Stiles' face, but Derek imagines that his mouth is slack and his eyes wide, watching Derek eat. Stiles is always watching, watching the way Derek moves and speaks and thinks. It used to make Derek feel overwhelmingly self-conscious, but after everything he and Stiles have done together, discovered together, there's nothing left to feel embarrassed about.

Stiles falls back, but Derek follows the movement with his hands and notices when Stiles stops halfway, propping himself up on his elbows. "Perfect," Derek says through the last few crumbs of cake in his mouth before he swallows them. 

Derek means the angle Stiles has his hips at, the amount of tension he's keeping on his cock to help Derek along, but Stiles laughs and murmurs, "Flatterer."

Ducking down, Derek kisses Stiles and increases his pace. He can feel the urgency of his body building with every thrust down and every grind of his cock against Stiles' stomach. He whimpers.

"Me too," Stiles assures Derek, rolling his hips in time with Derek's thrusts. "God, fuck. Der, these panties! They're tugging on my ass every time we move. It's making me want to bend over for you. Can you imagine it? Over the hood of this god awful station wagon? Out the hatchback, my feet planted on the concrete and my ass in the air, these god damn panties pushed just out of the way?"

Derek's orgasm hits him like a freight train and he wants to stop moving and gasp but he can't so he holds his breath and keeps fucking going while his cock leaps and pumps out all over Stiles' stomach. Groaning, Stiles falls back, grabs Derek's hips and fucks up into him a few more times, hard and fast, until he's snorting breath through his nose like a bull and grinding his cock up into Derek as it shudders.

Satisfied, Derek collapses down on top of Stiles, one forearm brushing the side of the cake box. Oh, cake! He gives Stiles a hug and mouths at the side of his neck a few cursory times before reaching back to hold the condom on Stiles' cock as he pulls away. Now that he's sweaty, the air starts to feel really cold all of a sudden, so Derek quickly finds the wet wipe and cleans himself up before handing it off to Stiles to use and getting dressed.

"Good Birthday, mark 2?" Stiles asks as he wipes down his stomach and pulls the condom off, wrapping it up in the used wipe.

"Definitely," Derek agrees, taking a larger piece of cake and starting in on it. "Though I think you're giving me an underwear fetish."

Laughing, Stiles steals a cake filled kiss before grabbing his own smashed piece. "There are worse fetishes to have than an underwear fetish, Der. Like ... like _necrophilia_."

"Suddenly I'm not hungry anymore."

Stiles' peal of laughter fills the car and Derek gets a piece of cake shoved into his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can come visit me on [tumblr](pterawaters.tumblr.com) if you'd like.


End file.
